Fallout: Refuge of a Castaway
by PFCKor
Summary: The once NCR soldier, Tommy Hall, has done some terrible things. Things that would change a man and not for the better. Rather than live and face and the cruelities of Camp Virtue, he has decided to set out and make his own way.
1. Chapter 1 - The Beaten Path

Miles and miles of barren wasteland lay in either direction. A dusty trail was left behind him, and more of the same awaited the path he would soon cross. The crags, small boulders, and low bushes surrounded his lonely walk while the high sun beat down on his reddening face. Every so often a dip in the land opened up the possibility of some kind of refuge tucked away from the small road, but he would not risk such deviations. Searching for those things was enough to make a man go mad. He had plenty on him to get by.

He would occasionally wipe the sweat off of his clean-shaven face with one hand while keeping the other firmly planted on his holster. There was no telling what sort of creature – or human – he might trouble himself with out here on his own.

The Mojave was a cruel domain and worse yet, turned out even crueler men. One moment you could be enjoying your drink playing some slots and the next be gunned down on your stroll back to the station. Most everyone declared themselves a loyalty to some kind of organization under the desert sun. It did not really matter whether one was for or against them either, just that they were with them. No one really survived out here on their own. Not a soul. It was only a matter of time before the heat took your life; you were hunted down for something or other, or ended up a snack of the ravenous Deathclaws.

So what was he doing out here on this lonesome road, wandering toward nothing in particular? What did he hope to find, or was he searching at all? These were questions that had bombarded him since he first began his long walk. Every so often he would touch the patch on his breast, the letters protruding out with his name, Tommy Hall. As if this was to remind him of whom he was. Another patch was sewn on just above his name, the official emblem of the New California Republic. But that hardly mattered now.

Tommy considered himself a good soldier, maybe even a dedicated one. He had always performed his duty to the letter, and often received admiration from his superiors for his exemplary conduct. He had even performed _that_ gruesome task, the one that kept his eyes open at night and a feeling of anxiety that he carried with him throughout the day. But no more, Tommy had decided.

And so, without a word to his captain, even opting not to hint anything to his close friends in the unit, he committed a self-discharge. He knew this would be immediate exile, but found no favorable alternative. The other way involved too many documents, meetings, and probably the rebuke of his fellow brothers-at-arms. No, it was best to slip out quietly.

Whether he was being chased or not he cared little to consider, since by his experience the NCR claimed a large jurisdiction but often times enforced nothing outside of a two-mile radius from their camps. His camp, Camp Virtue, consisted of a town house meant for the officers and a sea of tents surrounding it. The camp had a relatively relaxed day-to-day, which gave plenty of reasons to hand over the dirty work to their men.

Tommy shook his head as the questions came once again. But he had no answers, other than that he was running. He was running from what he did, and even more so, the fear of what he might become. He could not fault NCR for that, any more than he could fault a spouse turning away from her husband as he beat their child as punishment. NCR held responsibility for dropping the problem on Camp Virtue, but only Camp Virtue could be held accountable for how it was carried out. He refused to partake any longer, and so devised a plan comprised of one step: leave Camp Virtue. Everything else was an afterthought, one of which involved spitting in the face of his captain before taking leave. Oh, how he wished he had done that.

The hand not firmly planted on his revolver fumbled around in his pocket, assessing the contents. Though he was now considered a deserter, he was not reckless and had waited for his last salary before making the departure. Roughly five hundred caps would be enough to sustain him, even in the waste. The remaining items held far less value: a lock-pick - though his skills were questionable - a single stimpack, some meds, and a small carving knife. He cursed himself for not bringing his more personal items which included pictures of past girls and family, but such sacrifices were necessary.

The small sack casually thrown over his shoulder contained irradiated water and a few pieces of fresh fruit. He had hoped they would sustain him until he found…whatever was out there. The blinding sun made it hard to see anything past the shimmering mirages sprawling in front of him. The land unfolded in front of him, and he searched intently for anything human above all else.

Occasionally he would pass by a pile of junk, heaps of scrap metal along the path he took. That gave him some hope that a kind of civilization would cross him eventually. Ideally one would take the time to rummage for any valuables in those piles, but that would require some kind of camp to take them back to. All sorts of places popped into his mind at that notion. Vaults, houses, compounds, anything seemed pleasing enough to give him rest for his ever-tiring legs.

Tommy grabbed his water, took a swig, and lowered it to see a peculiar site. Had that really not been there a second ago? Figures in the distance, three or four of them he could not be sure, seemed to be moving rather wildly. Tommy picked up his pace.

He found that the figures appeared just over the crest of a small hill, and the slope gave him speed as he pursued the people. Now he could hear shouting giving him the sign to engage them cautiously instead of openly.

Closing the distance on them, he saw the reason for their wild movements. Three of them were kicking a fourth struggling on the ground. The assailants were all dressed in rather scant clothing, and lines of paint covered their face and back. One of them raised a rather large machete in the air, but was not using it. The man on the ground wore rather plain clothes; his hat lay nearby his bald head and blood dripping from his mouth down his great beard. Tommy grew disgusted by the situation as soon as he saw the poor man closing his eyes, wincing in pain. The others did not even seem to notice his approach.

The painted men all had rather bronzed skin, giving away that they were native to this harsh, barren piece of land. The man in pain was not, which came as a startling fact that Tommy could have been that man on the ground, had he only been an hour or so faster.

Quick as any gunslinger in the NCR, he whipped out his revolver and walked slowly toward the group. So intent were they on beating the man that they did not even turn to look until one of them felt the cool metal on the back of his head.

"Stop this nonsense and drop that weapon of yours," called out Tommy, making his voice sound authoritative. "I'm not gonna shoot, unless I have to of course."

The three of them stopped and turned to face Tommy making everything quiet, save for the beaten man gasping for breath. The man that dropped the machete stepped forward, his face much more pointed and stern than the other two.

"A boy tells three members of the Black Canyon Tribe to stop?" he said, looking incredulous.

"I'd listen to the man pointing the gun at you," said Tommy. "And in case there's any doubt in that painted head of yours, I've been trained by the NCR-"

"We know a drone from the NCR when we see one. But I'm afraid that association does you no good out here. You'll get no favors from anyone. So let it be known that I step away from this little scene not because of your title, but because, as you said, you're the man with the gun." He bowed slightly and flashed a smile before backing away.

"Did I say you could move? You think I'm going to let you walk away from a man drowning in his own blood and not have you say anything about it?" Tommy said, his temper rising.

The man looked down, expression showing more sign of disappointment rather than pity. "Shame you caught us before we could finish him off. I'm sure a couple of stims will have him back to normal."

"But…why?"

The man crossed his arms, looking into Tommy's eyes and his face showing his smugness. "Are you deaf? Or are you new around here? The Black Canyon Tribe only takes in a passerby should they agree to our way of life and kills all the rest. Well, except for this one time."

Tommy shifted uneasily. If he let these men go, they would sure enough come back for him in full force. If he killed them, their disappearance would not go unnoticed to the rest of the tribe. As if to read his mind, the man responded.

"The man with the gun seems to be only left with two choices here. You have my word though that letting us go will be better than killing us. I'll go back to my people, you help this pathetic man to his feet, and we'll both agree that this incident never happened."

Tommy nodded firmly to the terms. He did not want to begin his new life as hunted prey. He kept his gun raised as the man picked up his machete and turned to leave with the other two that were with him. They never turned back.

Once they were near out of sight, Tommy looked down at the man, who was now staring up at him, blankly. Replacing his gun, he reached out a hand to help him up. The blood still glistened on his beard and his nose looked broken.

The man did not move, so Tommy grabbed him by the shoulders and raised him to his feet. Fortunately the man stood well enough on his own as Tommy patted the dust from his clothes. He picked up hat from the ground, something of an old soldier's cap, and handed it toward the man.

The man reached out a mangled hand to grab it, his eyes darting from the hat and then to Tommy's own eyes. Cold, hard, blue eyes stared deep into his. His lips opened to speak.

"You should've let me die."


	2. Chapter 2 - First Encounters

The winding path carved into the land, making its descent further into the ground and leading Tommy to salvation. Down the narrow canyon, he could see the great door of a vault, a welcome sight to his eyes. It was still a ways to go yet, and he had since exhausted his supplies, but the thought of company and a place to put his boots invigorated him with every step. By now the sun hung low in the sky, blue mixing in with violets and pinks on the horizon, and the sound of insects and other creatures could be heard off in the distance. In the corner of his eye, Tommy noticed a few mole rat pups scurrying off behind rocks as he approached. He dared not get too close so as to avoid the mother.

His thoughts lingered back to the events earlier in the day. The man he had saved, and the ingratitude that directly followed in return. _You should've let me die_. What did he mean by that? Even a man who has lost everything in the Mojave still sees opportunity. Wandering the waste was just as much of a gamble as the New Vegas strip. There was a time to win and a time to lose.

At the very least, whatever gratitude that was not expressed by his rescue was compensated for in the directions he had given. Barely saying a word, he seemed to understand Tommy had no clear destination, and drew a crude map in the dirt for him to follow. Once he had finished, he pointed down, grunted "Vault," and sauntered off in the opposite way he intended Tommy to go. His condition was so severe Tommy rushed over to help the poor man the rest of the way, but he pushed him away with surprising strength.

Tommy shook his head, failing to dismiss the image in his mind of the bearded man sprawled on the ground, another claimed by this hellish land.

One thing was sure though, the man was not as delusional as he once thought. He had no choice but to follow that map in hopes of finding something, and a few times he considered giving up. But here he was, the final stretch laid out before him as a mixture of relief and anxiety stirred up inside.

He found himself whistling an old NCR marching tune as he strode along. It reminded him of the innocence of his youth, a wide-eyed boy pouring over campaign posters, sneaking into conferences filled with elders viewing a recruiting movie reel, and peeking into the fences of compounds. It had been the military drills he had come to see, arms raising and lowering in unison, feet stepping precisely to the beat of an imaginary drum, and the low hum of a hundred voices. The drill instructor would shout his commands, and as if by extension, the soldiers obeyed unwavering. Most of all, Tommy's eyes fixed upon their weapons, all rifles carried in their left hand at the butt and raised high leaning against their shoulder. With such discipline, enemies would tremble in fear simply by the sight of those men and women closing in upon them. Though a naïve view, nonetheless that moment gave Tommy his life's purpose. Now…well luck of the draw has a funny way of changing a man's course.

While lost in his thoughts, an old, disheveled man straddling a lever-action shotgun across his lap startled him back into the present. He eyed Tommy suspiciously, leaning back in a creaking rocking chair on the metal porch leading up to the giant vault door. He had sunken, blue eyes, and a great beard mixed with grey and white, the grey looking to be caused by dirt and sweat. He wore simple garb, but the colors contrasted greatly with his sun-beaten body. Tommy halted just before the stairs and peered up at him. A look of disgust passed over his face before he leaned over to spit something brown in front of him.

_Looks like I'm not wanted here_. Tommy stepped forward and looked the man right in the eyes. He was down in supplies and had nowhere else to go. He would not pass up this chance without a fight. "I'm looking for a place to stay. You need an extra hand? I'm good for just about anything you can throw at me."

"No one gives a damn about helping you, NCR boy. Best turn your tail and go home," he said with a crooked smile, revealing a row of brown teeth with several missing.

Looking down, Tommy almost forgot he was wearing his uniform, plainly marking him as a soldier. "I'm no NCR anymore. I come to you free of any titles."

"That don't mean you don't cling to them values still shoved down your throat." He leaned forward as if to challenge, but Tommy knew he at least had the man interested.

"Then what if I told you I come to you as a deserter? That should prove to you that I can shrug off values as easily as a veteran unloads his gun."

The old man crossed his arms and leaned back, his expression softening slightly. "Those words might put a man in chains back where you come from. But out here, it's what you live by. Don't matter what group you run with, you always need a backdoor open to move on to the next. Everyone you're gonna meet used to be a part of something, but that don't matter no more.

Listen kid, I can already tell we'd get along smartly, but I ain't no doorman. This here gun and the bullets inside are meant to kill the likes of you once I can give a name to the body, 'cause that's just how Old Man Harvey does it, but you've done convinced me otherwise. I don't wanna leave you high and dry either, so I'll give you two things. First, go on out and find someone and give them my name. It's worth a cap or two in these parts and will get you setup nicely. Next, my little piece of advice is to get out of those clothes and dress like you don't belong to no one."

Tommy scowled at Old Man Harvey which was all he could do to suppress a fit of rage from the man's words. Though he was sure he had a faster draw than Harvey, he was aware a confrontation here would only be self-serving and hold little to no justice. "How about you open that backdoor you spoke of for me and give me directions to a place that _can_ take me in? Seeing that I'm out of food and asking you for some will do me little good."

Old Man Harvey seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before making his reply. "Now there's a bold man. Old Man Harvey withdrew his bullet, dished out advice to a stranger, and still he asks for more?"

Tommy simply stared, unblinking. "Very well. The least I could do for an upstanding citizen such as yourself. There's a ranch about five miles out and to the west from here. Old man and woman be living there. Can't promise they'd take you in, but they sure as hell will give you a bowl of soup and a bed for a night," said Old Man Harvey.

"Thank you," said Tommy, turning and more than ready to be done with the old man. He stopped suddenly, when a thought crossed his mind. He averted his gaze back to Harvey, who raised his brows. "What about…what about the Black Canyon Tribe? Where can I go find them?"

Harvey looked taken aback. He nearly stumbled out of his chair while his shotgun clattered on the metal grating after it slid off his lap. His face grew pale and his eyes opened wide, as if Tommy had just given him a death sentence. "You're no stranger! How you know about them?!" He cried out incredulously.

"I had a run-in with them a while back on the road. They were about to do in some poor man when I came on them by surprise. They were defenseless, and had little other choice but to back down. We went our separate ways after."

"How many of them were there?"

"Three."

Old Man Harvey ran a sweaty hand through his mottled hair. "The Black Canyon Tribe won't spare you next time, I can guarantee. I'd be kissing the ground all the way home if I got away without a scratch like that. How old are you anyway?"

"Just past twenty." Tommy noticed that Harvey's tone softened, with even a hint of admiration. "You?"

"The age where I don't need to care anymore. Say, we could use a man like you. You won me over from the start, but I've been speaking from the boss' mouth when I wanted to turn you away. But this…this can be your ticket in, if you still want it."

Of course he wanted it; more than a gambler wants their dice. He slowly made his ascent of the stairs, his boots clanking with every step. He dropped his gun before the feet of the old man and a subconscious smile crossed his face.

Old Man Harvey looked down at the revolver. "No, no. No need to empty your pockets for me. We believe every man needs a fighting chance, even in the vault. Make no mistake you'll ever need it though, 'cause that's a right family in there."

Tommy replaced his weapon and allowed himself to step through the threshold. Harvey was standing behind him, tapped the floor three times with the butt of his gun, and the door opened before them. Tommy's eyes had to adjust to the darkness pervading the vault. He could hear a mixture of sounds coming from the inside. Metal hitting metal, computers beeping and booping, and faint conversation were among them.

A rather gruff individual equipped with a rifle stepped forward to greet him. Not a hair appeared on his head save for a rather impressive handlebar mustache. Muscles bulged out of his white, sweat-stained tank-top. Tommy wondered why this guy did not serve to scare off unwanted guests over some old man. He nodded without a word toward the direction he wanted Tommy to follow. They walked up some stairs into a small room filled with tapes and equipment from centuries ago. Desks and chairs were piled with useless junk and metal scraps, obviously unused and untouched for quite some time. They approached a smaller, more rectangular door in front of them, but this time it needed to be opened with a keypad which the man quickly entered.

The door led to a catwalk overhanging above a dining court. At present no one was using any of the tables. In fact, Tommy found the place eerily quiet. Already he began to wonder whether the old man had just led him into a trap or not. His silent guard continued to move along the catwalk and they passed by several windows all of which were heavily tinted. He could tell a light was turned on inside that room, but could not make out anything else. After rounding a corner, the man took a position to the side of a doorway, golden light streaming from it. Tommy could immediately tell he was entering the tinted-windowed room.

"Perez, what's with the interruption?" a deep voice from inside the room demanded.

The guide motioned urgently with his head for Tommy to enter. The room was filled with computer parts, odds and ends, papers and filing cabinets, and rusted tools scattered all over the floor. Amid the chaos, a desk sat in the middle where sat a man with a grim expression across his face, hands clasped in front of him.

"An unexpected guest? Surely our old crow's gone blind out there. Go on, sit," he waved his hand to a dilapidated seat.

Tommy opened his mouth when the man raised a finger to silence him. "Not a word out of you, yet. You'll get your chance."

He pulled open a drawer and produced an old microphone. Not another second went by before he was broadcasting to the entire vault. "All persons to my office at once. No exceptions."

Tommy, one who normally felt calm in any situation, suddenly found his body sweating. One or two people looking at him in scrutiny seemed manageable, but not if an entire vault of people were to be present. He felt like a criminal in a court room, defending himself alone.

A rush of feet could be heard as several people began filing in behind Tommy. They were people of all ages and sizes, but no sign of any children. The Mojave was a difficult for a mature, able-bodied human, and quite something else for the young and vulnerable.

"Before us, my dear friends, we have someone who has come to us from the outside. Now we haven't been in a situation like this for some time. But if you all remember, we did have a procedure in place. I'd like to follow that." He looked onto his people in earnest. Then he turned his eyes to Tommy.

"I hate using too many words and I hate introductions even more. My name is Andy Jensen, and I am the leader of this little operation. We're a tight bunch here, where you're expected to look out for everyone but yourself.

We haven't survived all alone out here by letting your kind stroll in here wherever you damn well please. You came in here with certain intentions. In about one minute you will be given a chance to convince us why your intentions are sound. I and the rest of these people behind you will be the judge of that. If we find no credence to your claim of right, then you will be dead in the very chair you sit in now."


End file.
